


The Anniversary I Never Wanted

by rubychan05



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubychan05/pseuds/rubychan05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The grave’s been cleared recently, he notes. The grass has been cut back, and the wilting flowers he left last time have been removed. He wonders whether Mycroft arranged it – it seems like something the man might do, though he knows full well that Mycroft hasn’t been back since the day the grave was first filled. Far too busy, the man says, though everyone knows what he really means is that it’s far too painful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anniversary I Never Wanted

His wheelchair squeaks obnoxiously as Daniel pushes him up the path, the sound shattering the still silence of the churchyard. He winces irritably: he’s told Daniel five times to do something about it, but the stupid boy never listens. Simply appalling for a man of his parentage – Lestrade must despair.

The grave’s been cleared recently, he notes. The grass has been cut back, and the wilting flowers he left last time have been removed. He wonders whether Mycroft arranged it – it seems like something the man might do, though he knows full well that Mycroft hasn’t been back since the day the grave was first filled. Far too busy, the man says, though everyone knows what he really means is that it’s far too painful.

If he were still here, Sherlock would be rolling his eyes at how pathetic they’ve all become.

John lifts himself out of the chair, arms shaking dangerously as they struggle to support his weight. He can feel Daniel’s eyes on him, watching carefully in case he collapses, and John grits his teeth in determination. He may be approaching octogenarian status, but there’s life in the old boy yet.

The marble is cool to the touch, still damp from last night’s shower, and John lets himself be sentimental. Wrinkled fingers trace the letters carved into stone, lingering over the elegant curl of the final ‘S’. The font is overly detailed, ostentatious in its delicate flicks and twirls. Sherlock would have hated it. John had tried to get Mycroft to change it in the beginning, but Mycroft hadn’t really been listening to anyone back then. John still suspects that the war with China was the result of Mycroft pretending he didn’t need time to grieve.

Twenty five years to the day and John is still waiting for the hurt to fade. The detective’s been gone for quarter of a goddamn century, yet it feels like only yesterday.

He still remembers that final case. Remembers begging Sherlock not to take it (“For crying out loud Sherlock, we’re too old for this!”…“I beg to differ.”…“We’re in our fifties! Do you really think we can keep doing this forever?!”), remembers how determined Sherlock was to finally bring down the last remnants of Moriarty’s criminal empire.

Remembers the perfect O of surprise Sherlock’s mouth made as the shot rang out and a perfect red flower bloomed through his shirt, right over his chest.

It wasn’t like the movies. John didn’t catch the criminals and return in time to hear Sherlock’s final moving monologue. There were no last declarations of affection, no allies arriving moments too late to save his life.

There was just Sherlock, blood bubbling out of his mouth as he struggled to breathe, lying on the floor as the gang ran away. There was just John, blood spilling out over his hands as he tried to staunch the wound, eyes wide as he felt Sherlock’s chest shudder and fall still.

The police finally arrived hours later to the sight of John curled numbly around his fallen friend, so still that for a moment they thought they had two corpses to deal with. To this day John can’t remember how he got from the crime scene to the hospital. He suspects that it was all down to Lestrade, although he has the disconcerting feeling that Anderson was involved somewhere along the line too.

“Doctor Watson?” Daniel’s voice breaks through his recollections, and John starts as he comes back to himself. At some point he rested his cheek against Sherlock’s gravestone and the boy is starting to look more than a little uncomfortable. John sighs; time for yet another goodbye.

“Help me up Daniel, there’s a good lad. Time to go home.”

He pretends not to notice the old man hiding his face behind a newspaper as they leave the churchyard. If Moriarty went to all the trouble of escaping prison to pay his respects, the least John can do is give him a few hours head start.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2011, which is why Moriarty makes an appearance at the end. Although, given the ending of s3, who knows? This could become canon-compliant all over again.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr under [rubychan05](http://rubychan05.tumblr.com/).


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